Red Ribbon
by HugAZombie
Summary: ."Madness is a mere perception of a mental state. Is this madness, what you suffer?" -Drabbleish I guess -


_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC. _

_**Pairings: **__ArthurxGwen, ONESIDED!MerlinxArthur_

_**Notes: **__I doubt this even makes sense. I have no idea what I was thinking when I wrote this. I wrote in like ten minutes and now that I've written it, I'm thinking 'what the hell?' I also fear that Merlin may be OOC. :/_

_Experimental writing style as well. Tell me what you think of that, whether or not you actually get the content aha. _

**[]**

**Red Ribbons and Emerald Envy**

From beneath this Technicolor sky you are deemed worthless. Observing, always observing with those liquid fire eyes, the crimson ribbon blossoming from one lonely soul to its kindred counterpart. It's softly humming tune of gentle passion sickens you, does it not? Makes you fraught with an unending anger you both embrace and repulse. Abhor and adore.

Gentle warlock, soothe those inner webs of lava poisoning your veins, anger does little for you here but allow you to commit a deliberate suicide. Suicide by Love. Suicide by Jealousy. Suicide by Anger and Hate. Follow that ribbon too closely and all that shall be reaped will be the glistening lands of Avalon that await your perpetual sense of self.

Madness is a mere perception of a mental state. Is this madness, what you suffer? Is this a moonlit lunacy that catches you by the throat and asphyxiates you on your choked denials? What else can it be, young warlock. Nothing else for there is nothing but a void dwelling inside of you – empty and hollow of all but a gleaming shard of envious emerald, embedded and pulsing with its hunger.

Hunger you want to satiate as you observe the throbbing, vibrating thread that links your beloved to another. To you it is a vein, a vein split open and the song it hums so passively is festering, oozing blood. It encroaches upon your skin does it not, a stain only you can see, yet another laceration of guilt and hunger and duty ripping your soul into nothing more than tattered remains.

You are losing yourself young warlock, losing yourself in the darkness that lingers in us all. Can you not feel the cool embrace of its clutching fingers? They may soothe the fire in your skin, but not the blaze in your heart. It will merely fan it with the fervour of a demon spawn.

You try to look away, I know, Sorcerer. You close those eyes that See all and yet you feel it still. The thread winds around you, entangling you mockingly as you curse its very existence. It obstructs your movements and you struggle, and yet no prize shall you win in this joust. Your opponent is too strong even by one of your sort. Omniscient. Untouchable. Unthinkable. It goes not by our hearts, but its' own folly – which rarely adheres to our own childish whims and wants.

He was never yours. The stars wrote out another path for you, cut it from a jagged rock and expect you to stumble on its' sharpened edges. His is slit from silk, as is hers – the soft material that connects them is one of the same. You are too rough for him, too lowly for a King of the Stars. He rules with not a rough creature such as yourself, scurrying below him as mice, scrambling for favour. He will not bless you with his endearments, young one, his heart is taken by another.

You are but a child to him now, kneeling at feet and hungry for his clemency. But you forget he has a Mother by his side now, a temptress to which holds in higher regard then a man does a god. He is not yours. He never was. He was always hers, and she was always his. Forever, Eternal. Perpetual. Always them – the golden couple – never you – the golden wanderer. This is the path cut for them in that silken red you detest and cannot ignore. Your own path is a treacherous domain, lonely and darkened with unanswered questions and unattainable affection. Doomed are ye, young warlock, doomed for without such condemnation you cannot grow. You cannot become that which the Mother Stars have predicted you will become.

And so onwards you must march, ignoring the infection in your blood and the desire to cut that silken thread and detach your Passion from his rightful Heart. This is what must be – broken are you for the greater Good.

You are alone and it is Good. You are hesitant and it is Good.

Love was never your destiny, young child of the earth, only Protection.

**[]**

_May rewrite, may add more – but only if I get in this odd mood again aha_

_Thanks. _


End file.
